


Whisky is For Sharing

by eighty_eight_m8, Hoppskibjack



Category: Bandom, Green Day, Real Person Fiction
Genre: Alcohol, American Idiot Era, Comfort Sex, M/M, Post-Divorce, Sexual Frustration, sex on Mike's bed, trillie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-12
Updated: 2017-11-12
Packaged: 2019-02-01 12:46:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12705264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eighty_eight_m8/pseuds/eighty_eight_m8, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hoppskibjack/pseuds/Hoppskibjack
Summary: Tré's divorce has been finalized and he's not feeling the happiness and freedom he thought he would feel. Billie Joe, friend extraordinaire joins him originally to celebrate the end of that chapter, but that quickly changes. Either way Billie Joe Armstrong is always prepared.





	Whisky is For Sharing

**Author's Note:**

> This is a collaborative fic written back and forth between the two of us paragraph by paragraph.

The final paperwork was submitted, signed and notarized. Frank Edward Wright III was no longer a married man. What should have filled him with a sense of freedom instead fell flat. He sat in a common area on the tour bus, head jammed into a drum magazine criticising the choices made in each of the “featured” kit set ups. His words coming out as mumbling syllables that occasional contained a Zj or SLC. Tré made every effort to blend in with the walls and not stand out.

Billie walked up to the tour bus, knowing full well what this day was. Tré Cool was a free man and they were going to celebrate with an expensive bottle of whiskey and some planned fun. Billie knocked on the bus door, “Hey! It’s Billie and I brought some supplies!” He shouted to Tré inside, shifting the bottle in his arm and the bag of CDs hanging from his shoulder. He waited a couple of moments before kicking the door harder than before, “Hurry up and open the fucking door!”.

Oh, he heard the first knock. He knew Mike had gone off somewhere - sight-seeing probably, so it was Billie outside. Tré closed the magazine and walked to the front of the bus at the second knock, opening the door and letting Billie in, with a grunt and a short “hey.” He grabbed the bottle of alcohol, without asking and returned to his seat. He opened it and took a swig as he sat down. Tré sighed and winced at the alcohol. “It’s done, man.” His voice didn’t have the same excitement as it had hours ago.

Billie made an indignant noise when Tré all but snatched the bottle from him, watching him sombrely drag his feet back to the couch with confusion. “Congratulations? Dude, what’s wrong? I thought you’d be psyched to celebrate this.” Billie asked, walking into the common area and to the couch opposite the drummer. “Also; that bottle is for the two of us, so if you think I’m letting you drink that three hundred dollar whiskey to yourself, you are wrong.” He dryly added with a low chuckle, reaching over and grabbing the bottle out of Tré’s hands to pour two glasses.

“Even after getting divorced, I still have people telling me what I can’t do,” Tré said after a moment, taking sip of the whiskey from the glass Billie placed in front of him. He smiled, but it was forced and was followed by a sigh full of frustration and resignation. He shoved the drumming magazine out of the way to put his elbows on the table to then put his head in his hands. “I just don’t know, man. She’s gone.” He said into his hands. When he looked up, it was only to grab his glass of alcohol which he tossed back. “Billie, I’m gonna be lonely and,” he put extra emphasis on the second point, “I’m going back to me and my right hand.”

Billie looked empathetically over at Tré, taking a sip of his own glass and plonking himself down into the couch opposite the drummer. “Look, you’ll meet someone soon enough, and you’ve still got your kids to keep you sane.” He watched Tré as he hung his head in his hands. Trying to comfort Tré was always hard, but Billie always had a way. Billie sighed exasperated, reaching into his pocket to pull out a cigarette, before placing it between his lips and lighting it. He took a puff before starting his next sentence, “Besides, dude, you’re a fucking drummer. You’re ambidextrous! So it’s you and both of your hands.” Billie joked as he leaned back against the chair.

Tré eyed the cigarette but said nothing, preferring to fidget with the empty glass in his hand. He snorted out a laugh at Billie’s comment, “that wasn’t the point dude. You’re right though, two hands, twice the fun.” He stared at Billie for a minute, more than a casual glance noting the remnants of some stage makeup that hadn’t quite come off. He gave a shrug, “maybe I’ll just go off women altogether, become a monk.” He smirked and then clinked his glass against the side of the whisky bottle. “Make yourself useful, will ya?” He said with a returning glint in his eye.

Billie laughed at the thought of Tré becoming a monk. “Fuck off, you wouldn’t even last six hours without jacking off.” Billie rebuked with a soft laugh. He reached for the bottle and Tré’s glass to refill. Billie smirked, laughing to himself quietly because he could feel Tré’s eyes linger on him. He stood up, grabbing the two glasses before spinning back to the drummer and placing himself on the couch right next to him. He spread his legs for an added effect and placed one of his hands on his upper thigh. “And to go off women? I think that’s just as likely to happen as you becoming a monk.” He added skeptically as he took another puff of his cigarette and flicked the ashes into the 8-ball ashtray.

“If you do it in your sleep it doesn’t count,” Tré said with a grin. “Even monks indulge in some sleep jerkin’.” He made a jacking off motion to emphasis his point, pausing as Billie came to sit next to him. Bastard was doing that on purpose. How did someone so damn short have legs like that? Tré refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing the effect he was having on him, which was clearly because he hadn’t gotten any since the initial separation. Shifting and angling himself slightly away from the singer, he scoffed at the whole picture Mr. Armstrong was trying to paint. “Smoking stunts your growth…” Tré stated bluntly, watching the cigarette slowly disappear to the flame. “Joints are where it’s at!” He dug into a little case on the table, producing a joint with a little flourish and lighting it.

Billie scoffed, watching Tré grab the case. “You’re calling me short, Tré? I may be little, but I’m still taller - and older - than you.” Billie shook his head laughing to then look down at his hand resting on his thigh. He huffed a laugh, and looked back at Tré wiggling away from Billie. “What the fuck are you doing?” Billie said, amused by Tré’s squirming. He rose an eyebrow and looked over at the drummer. He smirked, he knew full well what Tré was doing and he was going to indulge in teasing him. He pulled a drag from his cigarette and moaned loudly as he exhaled the smoke, closing his eyes and slacking his jaw in an attempt to make himself look wanton.

Billie Joe Armstrong was a bastard, Tré decided then and there as he took a drag off the joint and narrowed his eyes at him. Try as he might, Tré couldn’t will his body to ignore the moan or the closed eyes and relaxed jaw. He, like most sensible men of a certain persuasion, knew the bastard was extremely attractive and his body just reacted to it. Stubbing out the joint gently, he turned back towards the wanton wannabe and let out an exasperated sigh. Whether it was the alcohol or the sheer foolishness of it, Tré couldn’t think of any alternatives to just grabbing Billie, kissing him, pushing him into the couch and making him scream. At the same time a tiny part of his brain couldn’t run the risk that Beej would kill him and then leave (possibly with the expensive whiskey). “The fans can’t jump you when you moan like that, but I can.” He tried for confident and he wasn’t sure he actually got there. He smiled. “Fucking you would be a great way to celebrate the divorce.“

Billie smirked and looked over at Tré. "I thought you’d never ask. I knew you needed company, so why do you think I bought alcohol and silk panties?” Grinning now, he bat his eyes at Tré as well as he could, relishing in Tré’s slack jaw expression. With an amused grin dancing along his lips, Billie stood up and butt out his cigarette. Once he was up, he looked back at Tré with a scoff, “Oh, don’t give me that look. I knew you’d need to get it out of your system, so I’m your personal fuck toy for the evening.” Billie winked, turning his back on the drummer and teasing the top of his jeans with his fingers. He looked over his shoulder and bit his lip, “did you want to see?” He emphasised the question with a little shake of his ass. Billie loved every bit of attention he was getting right now.

Tré felt the air leave his lungs with the beginning of Billie’s statement and his mouth dry up at the end. “Fuck Bill,” he mumbled under his breath. “You planned this?” He had to admit he was having conflicting feelings, all of which were in his head and didn’t extend down into his pants. He couldn’t walk away from this, that wasn’t an option, he had to take full advantage of it. Tré stood, adjusting himself and letting a slow smile creep across his lips as he took a step towards the singer. Grabbing the belt loops on Billie’s jeans, he pulled him back. Grinding against the older man’s ass with a growl, he whispered into the singer’s ear, “I see this ass every fucking show, about time I get to enjoy it properly.” He trailed his fingers across the top of the jeans, unhooking the top button and then pushing Billie towards one of the bedrooms. “Bed, Go.”

Billie leaned into Tré when he came up behind him, grasping his forearm as Tré worked his top button. He lay his head back and looked at the drummer. He was in awe at the sight of Tré, he has never seen him like this. His eyes blown and jaw slack as he looked over Bille. He moaned quietly as he felt Tré’s fingers brush along his hip, before settling on his waist to push him towards the bedroom. Billie practically skipped to the room with the queen sized bed in it, twirling around to grab Tré by the arm and pull him into himself. Billie devilishly smiled at Tré, "Come on, big boy, let’s see how much you’re going to enjoy my ass.”

Tré quickly unfastened Billie’s pants, snaking his hands under the slackening denim and skimming his fingers across his hips before grabbing and kneading his ass. This only lasted for a moment however, Tré pulled his hands free to pull Billie’s shirt over his head and toss it next to the bed. His own shirt and pants followed soon after as the drummer stood staring at his friend for a long moment as the jeans fell for Billie to step out of. He pushed his lips against Billie’s, moving less on his rational decision and more on pure want and impulse. His hands wandered over any visible skin - the tremble in them he hoped unnoticeable. He did this until he broke the kiss and turned Billie so they were back to front again, this time the bulge in his pants no longer concealed by the jeans and pressing into the other’s still clothed ass. “I’m already enjoying it this much, how much more do you think?”

Billie groaned at the friction of Tré rutting against his silk covered bottom. He threw his head back onto Tré’s shoulder, humming lowly as he now stood in nothing but black silk underwear. Billie rubbed back against Tré’s cock in response, feeling the drummer already half hard. His hands wandered down to his waist, skimming over his nipples and belly, before settling on Tré’s hands and interlocking their fingers. Billie slowly directed Tré’s hand lower onto his crotch before grinding into it, letting out a small sigh. “Fuck, Tré.” Billie moaned, closing his eyes as he rubbed against Tré’s hand. “I swear to God, I want you to fuck me into the mattress. I want to hear you scream my name out as you use my tight ass as your fuck toy. So, I hope you will like these panties even more by the end of the night.”

Tré let out a gasp as Billie thrust into his hand, then tightened his grip on the silky material as he ground his half hard (and hardening…) cock against Billie’s ass. The words the singer was spilling only escalated the situation, drawing a picture in his mind for the evening’s festivities. He bent forward to kiss and then lightly nip at Billie’s neck, shaking off the hands that had covered his own. He let his right hand edge up to the hem of the panties, tracing a thumbnail just under the elastic of the top and dipping underneath. The other hand traced up the older man’s stomach, clipped nails very gently scratching the flesh as he drew them up his torso. Tré kept the hand moving up Billie’s torso as light as possible, running gently across a nipple and then tracing it with soft, feathering touches. The right hand slipped under the silky fabric to grasp Billie firmly, squeezing and only very gently stroking while the other hand explored and pinched his nipples. “Shame we’re in here, always wanted to see you bent over my drum kit like this.” He gave a theatrical sigh, “I guess fucking you into the mattress will have to do.”

The only thing Billie could do in that moment was groan, gasp and sigh at the sensations Tré’s fingertips created that were shooting through his body. He tilted his head to the side to give Tré better access to his neck as he melted in the drummer’s arms. Billie’s now free hands wandered, one in Tré’s soft hair and the other digging into Tré’s thigh in an attempt to keep himself standing. The fingers playing with his nipples made Billie arch his back and cry out, “Fuck, Tré. Just like that, mmph. Ah ~ fucking hell, faster, please.” His words only came out as a hoarse whisper as he felt Tré’s hand snake its way around his cock. The vision of being bent over Tré’s drum set made his cock twitch at the thought, “If ~ ah ~ If I knew that, mmph, I would’ve told you ~ holy fuck, mmmm ~ ‘meet me in the band room’,” Billie twisted his upper body halfway to face Tré and pull him into a deep kiss, breaking it only to speak. “I guess you have to bend me over the end of the bed now.” He smirked, gasping from the kiss.

The little moans, gasps and sighs that Billie made were like sparks under Tré’s skin. He clutched a little tighter, stroked a little faster and scratched a little harder in hopes of driving out just one more sound. He returned the kiss, feeling it jump to his cock and make his skin almost tingle. “It’s been too long,” he muttered under his breath to himself as he half guided and half pushed Billie by his hips towards the end of the bed in the small bedroom. “Mike won’t care if we use his room, I don’t think I’ll make it down to mine.” He was done fooling around, Tré hastily pushed Billie onto his hands on the bed, leaving the singers ass up in the air. Tré followed to whisper in his ear, “bent over like this?”

Billie bounced a little on the bed when Tré pushed him. The thought of doing it in Mike’s room was bad enough, but if the bassist came back early, he was in for a surprise. That only spurred Billie further, moaning under Tré as he hovered above him. He nodded frantically as an answer to Tré’s question, emphasising his point by bucking back into Tré’s groin. The swift movement on Tré’s behalf was an incredible turn on for Billie, having that authority to make decisions for him was a thrill. He was painfully hard now, rutting against the bed to ease some pressure and rubbing back along Tré’s own erection. “Fuck - Tré, please - I need you inside of me, do something.” Billie could feel himself grow impatient, he needed Tré to fuck him into this mattress. “In the top draw on your left, Mike should have some condoms and lube.”

The drummer made a frustrated sound, pushing away from the bed and half stumbling to the drawer Billie pointed out. Sure enough; he wasn’t going to ask how he knew, a few silver packets of lube and condoms lay inside the drawer. Tré grabbed two of the lube packets and tore a condom off the strip, shoving the drawer closed with a stronger than necessary push. He turned with a flourish, brandishing the packets briefly before dropping a lube packet by Billie’s head. “Gonna fuck you, Bill,” he said in a sing song voice as his hands were busy working the condom over himself, then slathering lube over the condom. He pulled down the silk panties, tapping Billie’s foot to step out of them. “Does the fuck toy want to open himself up for me?” His voice was as sweet as he could make it for such a lewd sentence as he waited more or less just to heighten things for Billie.

Billie’s eyes fixated on the packet that fell next to his head. He smirked and looked over his shoulder back at Tré. “You don’t think this fuck toy wasn’t already prepared?” He threw the packet back at Tré, laughing as it hit him square in the face. He reached around and grabbed at his ass, spreading it to show a sparkle jewel at the end of a butt plug. “Not expecting that, were you?” He chuckled and turned back around, laying his head on the covers. He moved his hands to either side of his head, grasping the blankets in a tight grip. He moaned at the friction of rutting into the mattress, closing his eyes and gasping as his now bare cock dribbled precome all across the sheets. Billie felt a pang of sympathy for Mike for the mess he was making, but fuck- it was too good to care at that moment. He could feel himself grow impatient with the lack of contact from the drummer. “Don’t just stand there and stare, Tré. Fuck. Me.” Billie grit out, emphasising his last two words with a thrust of his hips into the mattress.

Yes, the butt plug was a very big surprise. A welcome surprise, but one nonetheless. The packet hitting him in the face added insult to injury. Tré didn’t want to keep him waiting, he was just battling with the whole _holy fuck I’m going to fuck Billie on Mike’s bed_ angle of everything. His dick twitched and warm satin pooled in his stomach. He grabbed Billie’s hips to stop the grinding movement on the bed, switching to one hand as he pulled out the surprise accessory. If anyone said Tré Cool didn’t have patience he proved them wrong by not yanking it out as fast as he could. The drummer didn’t waste any time pressing in, and didn’t treat like Billie like a newcomer to these experiences. When he couldn’t go any further into that hot, tight opening he paused and tried to get his breath back. He started a slow, even pace pace, almost coming all the out before sliding back in. He let out a moan and gripped harder into Billie’s hips, his fingertips leaving indentations as he thrusted a bit deeper, still keeping the same pace.

Billie whined as he felt the plug come out, feeling empty for a split second before Tré pushed in. The feeling of Tré slowing sliding in had him gasping, he was so full and holy fuck; Tré knew what he was doing. Slowly melting under Tré’s touch, he mewled at the shift of angle and rhythm Tré had started, knuckles now white from gripping the sheets so tightly. A flurry of swears and a few sweet gasps had Billie sweating, pushing back to meet the other man’s thrusts, forcing him deeper, harder, faster - Ah, fuck right there! The constant pounding Billie’s prostate endured had him writhing and moaning against the covers. “Fuck, fuckfuckfuck” was all Billie could manage as Tré sped up. Reaching behind himself with his right hand, he grasped Tré’s thigh tightly, nails digging into to his thick thighs. “Tré~!” Billie cried out, “Yeah, baby, use my tight little hole ~ ahh ~ yeah, mmmph, just like that.” Billie was all but bouncing on Tré’s cock by this point, his own cock leaking heavily on the sheets. The friction of where his cock met the fabric on each of his bounce was unbearably good, making him burrow his head further into the sheets and bite his lip. Billie was on the verge of screaming, all of these sensations making his tight ‘fuck hole’ flutter tight against Tré’s shaft.

There’s such a thing as too good, he reminded himself as he struggled valiantly to keep from coming on the spot. It would be embarrassing if the hot, tight friction was anything but deliciously hot and tight. It would be embarrassing if those nails weren’t threatening to puncture the skin on his thigh and were bringing the best kind of pain straight to his cock. Billie was pushing back and Tré kept the rhythm (ha ha) as best as he could. Billie’s mouth was the other part of the equation. Between grunts Tré stuttered out, “fuck! you have a filthy mouth!” His voice was noticeably higher than normal. He wouldn’t deny that the stream of never safe for work dialogue was amplifying everything else though. “If this hole wasn’t so,” he took a breath, “fucking perfect, I’d be fucking that filthy one.” Knowing he wasn’t going to last that much longer, he reached forward to grab Billie’s leaking dick, giving it quick strokes in time with his thrusts. His own mouth releasing a litany of profanity and garbled nonsense as he fought off his own climax.

The grasp on his cock made Billie groan loudly, panting as he felt so sensitive under Tré’s touch. He chuckled at Tré’s remark about him having a filthy mouth, making him smirk back at Tré. “Yeah, baby? You like it when I talk - ah, fuck - you like it when I talk dirty?” Billie asked, barely getting the words out. He pushed back on Tré’s thrusts, harder and faster this time. Billie knew the drummer was close, he could feel Tré’s movements becoming stuttered and hesitant. The grip on his cock became tighter from his shift in pace, Tré’s hand now moving at a blur making Billie cry out, “Fuck, Tré. I- I’m gonna..” Billie groaned, head back against the sheets, eyes screwed shut. Billie was covered in a sheen layer of sweat, with more beading on his temple from being so close to exploding all over Mike’s bed sheets. “Tré, come for me. Ungh, come inside me. Please.” Billie whimpered, hand on Tré’s thigh squeezing in encouragement.

Tré managed a grin at Billie’s words, his hips stuttering briefly before rejoining the rhythm he had before. It was when the singer’s tone and attitude changed that Tré felt those last few clenches of muscle. He dug his fingers in on Billie’s hip, the other hand already preoccupied. Billie’s pleading was all Tré needed to thrust a little harder and a little faster. He bit back a growl, twisting it into a moan as his restraint let go and he spilled into the condom inside Billie with a shout. “Fuck! Billie!” He kept his hand moving, twisting his wrist at the end of each pull to bring the other man over the edge.

“Fuck! Tré-” Billie gritted out, “Yeah, baby, come for me.” The feeling of Tré twitching and coming inside of him made Billie moan, his whimpers growing in number as Tré jerked him off. “Fucking hell, Tré..” He mumbled into the sheets, feeling his climax rise. The twist of the wrist at the end of his shaft is what ultimately set Billie off, his body overloaded with sensations. It was relieving when he released thick, hot ropes of cum on the sheets under him. Billie grit his teeth and dug his fingers into Tré’s thigh, blunt fingernails leaving marks in the other man’s skin. Billie held his breath until his cock stopped twitching, leaving him panting under Tré and laying in a warm pool of his own ejaculation.

Billie’s nails dug into Tré’s thigh and he bit the inside of his cheek to keep from calling out. When the other man came, he pressed a soft, quick kiss to the back of his head as he lay panting on the bed. Tré pulled out gently, staggering back a step and catching the doorframe to stay upright. He pulled off the condom and leaned against the wall, glancing down at the slightest trickle of blood running down from where the nails had pierced the skin. Tying off the condom and tossing it into a wastebasket; the way Tré saw it Mike was going to kill them anyway, so there was no point hiding the evidence that it had been safe, he grabbed a few tissues to clean himself off with. Holding a tissue to the spot where it had been bleeding, Tré took a seat on the bed near Billie and tapped him with the side of the box in offering.

Billie glanced up at Tré from where he was laying. He hummed a thanks and grabbed the tissues, wiping himself and the bed. Billie sat up, pulling Tré over to him by the hips, arms wrapping themselves around the drummer’s waist. He looked up at Tré, smiling as he leant in slowly for a small kiss. “You feel better? That divorce must’ve been a real fucker considering how hard you fucked me.” Billie chuckled softly. “I don’t think I’ll be able to sit properly for a few days.” He smiled, trying to make light of the situation.

Tré returned the kiss, letting out a little sigh and wrapping an arm around Billie. He made a noncommittal noise, “Bit of frustration’s gone now, at least. Doesn’t clear up all the shit she left behind.” He paused for a second and smirked, letting a mischievous light dance across his features, “we could make this an after show thing, well, until I’m feeling better?” The ‘on’ was only for a second though before the facade dropped away and he was quiet, taking time to just appreciate Billie’s closeness, then glancing around the room. “Mikey’s gonna kill us.“

Billie laughed at Tré’s suggestion, “If we made it an after show thing, I don’t think I’d be able to move after a few days based on today.” He smiled, watching Tré’s beautiful features change in the dimly lit room. Leaning in, Billie rested the side of his head on Tré’s stomach, feeling the drummer inhale and exhale. He glanced at what he could see of Mike’s room and hummed, agreeing that Mike would indeed kill them for the mess. Billie looked back up at Tré, gazing into his blue eyes with a glint of mischief in his own. “He may kill us, but I don’t think he’d mind. Besides, he might want to join in next time.” Billie grinned devilishly, “Ya never know with Mister Dirnt.” 

“Never know what?” Was the confused response from Mike, now standing in the doorway looking into his bedroom where his two band mates resided in. Very naked and very messy, Mike noted about the two as he stepped into the room. “Did - Did you two-?” He stuttered wide eyed, referring to the mess on his - previously clean - bed and the clothes that were scattered on the floor, “In my room?!”, his voice growing shrill by this point.

Tré ran a hand through Billie’s hair untangling curls with his fingertips as he talked. When Mike appeared in the doorway Tré just sat there, naked and with a Billie in his lap. He gave a little shrug. “My room was too far?” He offered with a small smile. He wasn’t apologizing for this, at least not this way. He had ideas. “Oh. And I owe you a condom.”

Mike unclenched his jaw and took a couple deep breaths. “What the fuck?” His voice was soft, more ‘I’m disappointed’ than angry. “Your room is right next door,” Mike countered Tré’s shrug with a glare in the drummers direction, the condom comment untouched except for a sigh. “You fuckers are paying for the dry cleaning and I’m drinking the whisky out there.” He left the room without another word.


End file.
